


Mad Dogs of Summer (Everything that I Know)

by suicider00m



Series: Diamonds and Gold [3]
Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Angst, Blow Jobs, Bulimia, Eating Disorders, Getting Together, Graphic Description, Hospitalization, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Purging, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-30
Updated: 2016-11-30
Packaged: 2018-09-03 02:48:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8693440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suicider00m/pseuds/suicider00m
Summary: If you live a lie for long enough, you forget how to stop.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This has incredibly graphic depictions of binging/purging as well as non-graphic or referenced laxative abuse. Please be wary while reading.

Bulimia fucking sucked. 

Yeah, purging was awful, _no shit,_ but there were so many other things that people either didn’t know about or chose to ignore. Gerard didn’t blame them; nobody liked an eating disorder when it wasn’t tragically beautiful. 

Pictures of pretty girls sobbing over toilets, pale skin with fragile bones poking out under skin, black and white edits of beautiful girls, the ‘goddesses’ Ana and Mia, imagines about what it would finally be like to be skinny and pretty; water and apples, black coffee and cigarettes, _that_ was what people wanted to see. 

Not some unshowered kid mindlessly shoving food in his mouth, using his fingers because it would take too much time to go upstairs and grab a fork; not falling asleep surrounded by food wrappers and takeout boxes and tupperware containers, too tired to do anything after purging, only to wake up early the next morning and go about the process of cleaning everything up with a heavy head and heavier stomach; not swollen cheeks and blotchy skin and dark bags beneath eyes. Nobody wanted to see the ugly side.

The irony was that from there, it only got worse.

Gerard’s teeth were so fucked that he’d been “forgetting” about his dentist appointments for the last two months; he’d rather ignore the problem than face the truth. His hair was falling out, small clumps caught between his fingers as he washed his hair. He’d close his eyes and let them wash down the shower drain, thinking he could pretend he never saw it. Most mornings were spent fumbling around with makeup he didn’t quite know how to use since it was the only way he could hide the burst capillaries around his eyes.

He’d forgotten how to eat normally, forgotten all about portions and serving sizes. Now he only knew the all consuming hunger, constantly needing more but never feeling full. His life revolved around food, using it to deal with emotional instability because he didn’t know how to deal with his problems. He felt like an addict with the way he relied on empty calories to fill his sadness, with the way he obsessed and lost control. Worst of all was the guilt: he knew what he was doing was wrong, but he couldn’t stop himself.

Then there was the fear, always being scared when his heart would beat too fast, when his chest would hurt or his bones would ache. Most nights he was afraid to go to sleep because he didn’t know if he’d wake up in the morning, if his heart would beat steady through the night or sputter out and die and take him with it. He knew he’d end up dead if he didn’t stop, but he didn’t care enough to even try. He’d given up on getting better a long time ago, as he didn’t see the point in wasting hope on his hopeless self.

x x x

Gerard started purging when his grandmother died.

Of course, he didn’t realize he was doing it at the time. All he knew was that there was an emptiness inside him that needed to be filled, so he filled it with food until he got sick and puked all over the floor. His mother had cleaned it up and looked at him with pain and understanding in his eyes like she knew what he was doing, but she didn’t know the half of it; purging was far more fulfilling than any food or family member’s love could ever be.

It turned from coping to punishment soon enough. 

For a while he had tried cutting (and picking and bruising and burning), but that was too risky; long sleeves and hoodies only hid so much. He needed something that he wouldn’t have to hide because nobody would be able to see it in the first place. 

He didn't really start punishing himself until after he'd puked after drinking too much tequila. It stung just as bad — if not _worse_ — on the way back up, and that's when he'd had the idea; the perfectly easy, totally self-destructive idea. 

He did what he’d seen in all those teen girl awareness pamphlets and health class dramatic movies, kneeling in front of the toilet and sticking two fingers down his throat. He didn’t understand why jabbing the back of his throat was doing nothing except making him choke a little bit, until he pushed back and pressed down and— 

Oh. So that’s how you do it. 

It wasn't that he enjoyed puking — that part was gross and disgusting — so much as he enjoyed the act of ridding himself of food. It cleansed him, made him actually as empty as he felt. It was his very own fucked up catharsis.

Inherently, he knew what he was doing was wrong, or troubling at the very least. But he managed to convince himself that it wasn't self harming or an eating disorder, that soon enough he’d come to his senses and quit with all this preteen girl-angst bullshit; eventually he’d get over it, so what was the point of trying to stop now?

Gerard continued to purge and the world moved on.

His life consisted of trying to scrub dried puke from his hair, popping the pimples on his chin from where the vomit dripped down (he washed his face obsessively but it didn’t do a thing), cheeks puffing up so often that everyone just thought it was his face shape. His throat was always sore but he didn’t even realize it as he’d become numb to the pain — maybe that was why he was eating more and more during his binge sessions. Splashback didn’t gross him out anymore, unfortunately; food came up easier when he was already gagging at the splatter of toilet water and chunky vomit hitting him in the face.

Food was different in his eyes as well. He used to eat an entire box of macaroni and cheese and feel stuffed, guilty over consuming so much, but now the only reason he’d regret it was because he knew how awful it would be on the way back up (cheese is a _bitch_ ). He’d still eat it though, because he couldn’t control himself during a binge; food was fulfilling no matter how disgusting it was — going down or coming up, it didn’t matter.

He’d gotten better at not scraping his knuckles, but there’d be the odd occasions when he couldn’t hold himself back and he _had_ to purge right then, bruising his knees as he’d fall to the floor and breaking skin on teeth. He was smart though, he knew how to hide it. 

He’d turn on the faucet and the shower, place folded towels on the floor in front of the toilet so his knees wouldn’t be too beaten up. A can of soda, a glass of water, an old toothbrush (in case fingers weren’t enough) would all be placed on the counter, along with paper towels to keep him as clean as he could manage. 

Gerard knew exactly what he was doing and that was the worst part of it all; he knew he was hurting himself, but that was the point.

x x x

Frank and Gerard were hanging out in his basement bedroom, listening to scratched CDs and reading comics while sipping on beers that Frank had stolen from his dad’s not-so-secret garage stash. Mikey had abandoned them to hang out with some of his other friends, leaving the two boys alone to act like they weren’t sneaking glances at one another when the other wasn’t looking.

Frank was… well, Frank was Frank. He was some beat down punk kid who never knew when to stop throwing punches. Black and red mohawk, pierced nose and lip, shitty tattoos from places that wouldn’t ask for ID; he drank, he smoked, and he cussed too much, but he was still a good person despite all that. He was just angry and pissed at everyone and everything he couldn’t change. 

He was a good guy and a better friend, so Gee really shouldn’t have been surprised when he started to fall in love. The gist of it was that Gerard liked Frank and Frank liked Gerard, but they were both too chickenshit to do anything about it, so they spent their time together sneaking unsubtle glances at one another and trying to pretend they didn’t want more. 

That night was no different as they exchanged light-hearted insults and shared their opinions on everything from politics to the newest CDs at the record store on 13th Street. Gerard couldn’t help but shiver every time he looked up to find the other boy staring at him. He didn’t like the look on Frank’s face, like he knew something was wrong but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. It was unnerving, not to mention terrifying, because what if he actually did figure it out?

Gerard startled back to reality, not realizing he’d zoned off staring at Frank. The other boy hadn’t looked away though, just continued to observe him with a worried expression on his face. The thought that he had vomit on his face flashed through his head, but a subtle swipe of the hand told him he was fine, so _why was Frank looking at him like that?_

“You okay, Gee?” 

Gerard rolled his eyes, trying to smile but ending up with something closer to a grimace. “I’m _fine,”_ he said with a lot more force than necessary. He knew Frank didn’t buy it, and Frank knew that Gerard knew that he didn’t buy it, but neither bothered to call the other out on their bullshit. Instead they just went back to reading comics and listening to shitty 80s punk bands, until Frank spoke up again.

“That denial of yours is going to get you into trouble some day.”

Gerard just smirked and pushed him off the bed.

x x x

Halloween was a nightmare.

Mikey, despite nearly being an adult, had gone out trick-or-treating with his friends (they had all dressed up like vampire hunters or something) and left Gerard and his mom to hand out the candy, which would have been fine had they not run out halfway through the night. His mom couldn’t understand, swore she had bought more than enough, but she didn’t see how Gerard ate half the bowl on his own, sitting deathly still so the countless wrappers stuffed in his pockets and shoved down his pants didn’t crinkle. 

He managed to make it downstairs without being caught though, and quickly began pulling the trash out of his clothes. He didn’t bother to throw any of it away, just threw it on the bed to care of later because at that moment he had urgent business to attend to. He paid no mind to the shame that was building in his chest, pushing up against his ribs and bruising his bones; there would be time for that later. All he needed right then was the blissful ignorance that came with the high of a binge, and the cleansing and regret (but not really) that came with the purge.

The chocolate was disgusting coming back up, the nuts scratched at his throat and he couldn’t for the life of him get any of the caramel candies out. He never understood why chocolate could taste so good going down but so bad on its way back up. He wondered if it had something to do with the milk; he’d once tried to purge some milk and cereal but he’d had to stop halfway through as the milk tasted acrid, like it had gone bad while in his stomach. 

At one point while trying to get the chocolate out, he started to choke on a large piece that had gotten trapped in his throat. He wanted to curse those damn nuts that he hadn’t chewed, or that stupid sticky caramel, but all he could do was beat his fist against his chest until it bruised and the candy was no longer lodged in his windpipe. He probably should have thought that purging was dangerous, that in the end it really wasn’t worth it and he should try to stop, but all he could think was that next time he needed to chew his food better. 

He kept on purging until eventually, everything was out and he was finally finished. He drank some water, set a timer for thirty minutes to remind him to brush his teeth, and went to pass out on his bed for a little while when the urge hit him again. He had to _eat._

He went upstairs, already thinking about what he could binge on: there was the leftover casserole from two nights ago that no one would miss, his usual staples of bread, cereal, and ice cream were always options, and he was pretty sure there was a pizza buried somewhere in the depths of the freezer. He intended to head toward the kitchen but stopped halfway through the living room, an awful, _horrible_ plan starting to form in his head. The TV was still on, playing some old black and white horror movie, Mikey was asleep on the couch, exhausted after a long night out, and his bag of candy was on the table. 

Gerard knew it was wrong. He knew he should go to the kitchen and find his binge food there, leave his brother to enjoy the victory spoils of cavity-creating confectionaries while he participated in another tooth-rotting competition. He knew Mikey would be upset in the morning if he found all his sweets missing, knew he would spend the next few days sulking around despite their mom’s effort to cheer him up by buying him clearance candy (which would disappear almost as quickly as the ones they handed out on Halloween night).

Gerard knew all of this and he still took the bag, being careful not to wake his brother up as he shamefully made his way to his room.

It was quick and messy, just like earlier that night. He passed out almost immediately after he finished (mostly) ridding himself of the candy, fell asleep surrounded by the evidence of his crimes. He deserved to have Mikey walk in on him like that the next morning, confused expression quickly morphing to one of anger and hurt as he saw the empty wrappers surrounding his older brother.

“Fucking fatass,” he mumbled as he stomped up the stairs, and Gerard wished there was more candy.

x x x

The thing about bulimia is that it doesn’t really help you lose weight.

Gerard wasn’t losing weight, not a lot anyway, and he didn’t know why he was disappointed. He’d never had a problem with his body before, with the extra weight that clung to his hips and thighs and the small paunch of his stomach. He’d never minded how his shirts were tight around his waist, how his pants were tight around his ass, how he normally wore a size medium or large. He’d never minded that he’d always been considered “bigger.”

So now, as he was standing in front of the bathroom mirror pinching at all the extra fat, why did it bother him so much?

While looking for tips on how to hide his habit, he’d stumbled across ‘pro-ana,’ some weird internet cult thing where teen girls used starvation diets to lose weight. He wondered if he should do that, start restricting his diet and purging _everything_ he ate. It would help him lose weight, right? But he didn’t care about his weight… did he?

He stood conflicted before sighing as he realized exactly what was going to happen that night. He threw on an oversized sweatshirt before heading upstairs, grabbing his mom’s keys and running to the car to try and avoid getting soaked by the rain that had been pouring down all evening. He’d be back before she needed the car in the morning, so hopefully he wouldn’t get in too much trouble; he’d just have to make sure it didn’t smell too much like fast food and vomit. 

(He also took the cash out of her wallet and Mikey’s, even though he knew they’d both be pissed about it. But he needed to do this and he didn’t have enough money on his own, so it was his only option.)

He headed to Taco Bell first, ordered the Variety Twelve-Pack, a 7-Layer Burrito, Cinnabon Delights, and a Mountain Dew Baja Blast to wash it all down. He ate as he drove, car swerving in his lane but he wasn’t too worried as it was the middle of the night and hardly anyone else was on the road. He pulled into the parking lot of some shoe store to purge in the bag, tossed it out the window before the vomit started to soak through the paper. 

Rinse and repeat. McDonald’s yielded two Double Cheeseburgers, a Big Mac, 10-Piece Chicken MgNuggets, a large fry, three apple pies, and a large vanilla milkshake, which he purged in the bag at a KFC parking lot. A $20 Fill-Up from KFC, which he ate and purged next to a gas station. A dozen donuts from Krispy Kreme, and he didn’t even bother to leave the parking lot before he was purging into the donut container. 

His last stop was Dairy Queen. Four regular Hot Dogs, two Chili Cheese Hot Dogs, an order of Cheese Curds, an Oreo Mini Blizzard Cake, a Banana Split, a Strawberry Sundae, two Blizzards (Salted Caramel Truffle and Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough), and a Mocha Iced Coffee. He sat in the parking lot, eating one item then purging it before starting on the next one. Soon enough, he’d finished the food and was on his last purge session. It was all well and good until he realized he’d filled up the bag. 

He started to panic, realizing he had no place to purge the rest of the food that he’d ate. He sat there for a few moments, internally panicking, before he grabbed the bag and got out of the car, throwing it in a nearby trash can before walking back. Using his car as cover, he bent down and stuck his fingers down his throat, and didn’t take them out until everything else was out too. 

He stood up, soaked from the rain, and looked at his reflection in the car mirror. This was how far he’d fallen, spending too much money on food that wouldn’t even stay in his body, purging it in parking lots and fast food bags that he’d throw on the side of the road. He looked at himself, saw the chunks of dried vomit in his hair and the crust on the corner of his mouth, saw the bloodshot eyes and the puffy cheeks, saw a person he’d never thought he’d be. 

He saw all of that, and he wondered if he had enough money left to stop by Starbucks.

x x x

Even though he _knew_ it was a bad idea, knew it would push him closer to the line of having an eating disorder, he tried restricting anyway.

It went well… for the first six hours. He had been doing everything he’d read about: chewing on gum and ice, looking at ‘thinspo’ (revolting yet intriguing), chugging water and black coffee and chain smoking like his life depended on it. Still, no matter what he did, he couldn’t get rid of the urge. He knew that binging wasn’t part of the ‘ana plan,’ but he’d lived in his ways for far too long to change. 

That night’s binge was almost as bad as the one he’d had when his grandma died. It was everything he could find, _anything_ he could find. It didn’t matter if he liked it or not, or whether it would be good or bad coming back up, all that mattered was that it was _food_ and it could comfort him. He ate until he was about to puke, could feel the food starting to rise up as he ran to the bathroom, just barely collapsing in front of the toilet in time.

Once he’d gotten the first wave out of him, he turned on the faucet and shower so he wouldn’t be heard and went back to doing what he knew best. Whether he was chained to a porcelain chair or chained to two fingers holding a cigarette, it didn’t matter; it was good enough as long as it was punishment enough.

x x x

Every year on Thanksgiving, his mom took him and Mikey to an All-You-Can-Eat Chinese Buffet. Awesome, right? It was before he was bulimic.

He’d go up, filling two plates to the brim before bringing them back to the table where he’d shove the food down his throat. He’d chug a glass of water then head to the bathroom where he’d bring it all up. After washing his hands and cleaning his face he’d go back out again and start the cycle once more. He had one foot in Heaven and the other in Hell and he wasn’t sure which he liked better.

After the third time (six plates compared to his mom’s one and a half and Mikey’s own two) and things were starting to get bad. It was easy enough to get things like noodles, pudding, ice cream, and other creamy things up. But pizza and chips, pretzels, even bread, anything crunchy or thick was hell. That didn’t stop him though, because he kept eating everything even though he knew it would be awful trying to puke it up later. 

By his eighth plate he was tired and so was his gag reflex. At first he’d only needed his two fingers, but now he was close to shoving his whole hand back there and it was still difficult. He was starting to wish he’d smuggled a toothbrush along; the rough bristles always came through for him when his fingers wouldn’t. 

Knelt over the toilet, hand in his throat with fingers wiggling around and barely even gagging, he wondered if he’d pushed it too far. His throat was sore and tired, burning wherever his fingers touched; his face was aching all over, his cheeks were swollen and he was sure that he must have burst some blood vessels; the pressure in his head had started growing and wouldn’t stop, pressing against the backs of his eyes so hard he felt like they might pop out with his next purge. 

If he was thinking straight he probably would have stopped, but all he could think of was all the food out there he hadn’t eaten yet.

x x x

People talk about purging until bile comes up. It was never like that for Gerard.

He’d be knelt over the toilet, everything up and out but he just had to be sure. So he’d put his fingers back in their place and push until one, two, three times he’d gag and nothing came out. His stomach would lurch, feel like it was trying to climb up his throat, and he’d know. He’d know that was it.

Even then he’d still feel like there was food in his stomach, a heavy tumor weighing him down. He’d try to ignore it but that would never work, so he’d turn to distractions instead. He’d sit outside on a lawn chair in the garden, smoking and blasting music through his headphones all while trying to ignore the urge of _out, get it out._

He’d sigh and put the cigarette out, amble his way inside where he’d curl up on the bed and trying to ignore the twinge in his stomach. Sleep wouldn’t come, not with the pain and the ache and the constant self-loathing. He’d lie awake and wallow in his own self-hatred until morning came and he could ignore the pain enough to finally close his heavy eyes and fall asleep. 

He’d wake up and feel just as exhausted as before he went to bed.

x x x

They were waiting in the car for Mikey to pick up their pizza when Frank first kissed him. It wasn’t anything big, he just leaned over the console and turned Gerard’s head towards his, a calloused hand on the boy’s cheek as he placed a soft, chaste kiss to his lips. He’d pulled away and went back to his side of the car, legs bouncing and humming some tune from a punk band Gerard couldn’t remember the name of.

“I have half a mind to puke on you right now.” 

Frank stopped humming, let out a nervous laugh before saying, “That is the weirdest threat I’ve ever received.”

Gerard smiled, looking over at the boy who was (unsuccessfully) trying to hide just how nervous he was. He leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, quickly pulling away when the door to the pizzeria opened and Mikey all but stumbled out with a large pizza in his hands. As he walked toward the car, Gerard smirked and, not bothering to look back at Frank, said, “I still reserve the right to throw up on you if you ever try to kiss me again.”

Frank smiled, mischievous. “I might be into that, you know.”

Neither of them would tell Mikey what was so damn funny when he got in the car.

x x x

There wasn’t any food left.

He’d eaten everything he could find: leftovers from dinner, the two frozen pizzas his mom had left for them, a tub and a half of ice cream, Mikey’s cereal (the kid would be pissed, but Gerard couldn’t bring himself to care), the rest of the loaf of bread that was supposed to make their lunches for the week, a banana, two apples, and an orange from the fruit basket, a box of Cheez-its, an entire bag of potato chips, a sleeve of oreos, a can of black beans, a bag of frozen broccoli he’d stuck in the microwave for three minutes while eating peanut butter from the jar, and even the ‘secret’ stash of candy his mom kept hidden in her knitting bag. 

And it still. Wasn’t. Enough. 

He needed more, more more _more_ but he couldn’t find anything in the kitchen except for soda and he had been drinking it the entire time to help everything come up after but it just wasn’t what he was looking for. He would have drove to the store but it was late and nowhere would be open and Mikey had taken the emergency cash their mom had left because he didn’t trust Gerard to not blow it on booze (which he wouldn’t have, actually). He was opening and shutting cabinets, slamming the doors so hard that they’d just open again and make him angry when food hadn’t magically appeared inside in the second it had been closed. He wanted to scream and cry and rip out his hair and maybe eat that too when he had an idea. A horrible, disgusting, degrading idea that he was already halfway through: Mikey never ate his pizza crust. 

So there Gerard was, in his kitchen at two in the morning, digging through a trash can to find the single pizza crust his brother had thrown away hours ago. When he finally pulled his arm out, the crust was soggy from who knows what and smeared with coffee grinds and Gerard shoved it in his mouth, chewing and crying and hating himself more than he ever thought possible. He stumbled to the bathroom in the basement next to his room and knelt over it, crying harder as he shoved his fingers down his throat. 

The pizza crust came up first.

x x x

After a few too many close calls with worried knocks on the door, he figured out that it was easier to purge in the shower. The running water helped hide the sounds of gagging and it was easier to clean up as the food just went down the drain. That stopped soon enough, though.

Frank and Mikey had ordered takeout during their usual Friday night movie marathon, and Gerard hadn’t been able to help himself. He’d eaten everything they’d gotten for him, as well as most of the appetizers they’d bought to share and everything that Mikey and Frank hadn’t finished of their own meals. 

“You can really put it away, Gee,” Frank had said, slightly disturbed and mildly impressed. Gerard had just smiled secretly to himself, leaning back to watch the movie as he sipped at his soda. 

Soon enough he abandoned the boys, citing tiredness and heading to the downstairs bathroom where he turned on the shower and stripped before stepping under the spray and crouching down. It came up rough, chunky and stuck together and he found himself choking on chunks more than a few times. That wasn’t the worst of it, though; no, the worst of it was that it was clogging the shower drain.

He started to panic as water began to gather in the bottom of the tub, bits and pieces of food floating around. He shut the shower off immediately and fell to his knees, sticking his fingers down the drain and pulling out the remnants of his meal. 

It was the most disgusting, humiliating thing to do, but he had no other options. He kept shoving his fingers in, scooping up the soggy, chewed up mess of noodles, chicken, and rice until the water started to drain. He collapsed back, sitting against the side of the tub with drying vomit on his face and a pile of half digested Chinese takeout. 

He tossed it, handful by handful, into the toilet, flushing it before doing his best to clean up the shower. He didn’t dare to turn on the water again in fear that it would start to clog once more, so he was stuck using half a roll of paper towels and a nearly empty bottle of windex to try and hide the evidence of his failed purge. 

Once he’d finally managed to get the tub back to normal, he took a look at himself in the mirror and nearly puked again. Instead he cleaned his face and hands, scrubbing until they were red and tender, before drying off, getting dressed, and collapsing into bed, completely exhausted.

He didn’t shower for a week.

x x x

“I like you.”

He looked at Frank, not so much surprised as confused. It was another Saturday night spent in the basement, reading comics and sipping on beers after being abandoned by Mikey for his other friends. Frank was friends with them too, and Gerard never really understood why the boy would choose _him_ over them.

“Yeah?” 

Frank nodded. “You make me happy.”

Gerard almost scoffed at that. How could he, a bulimic teenage washup who took community college courses because he wasn’t good enough to get into a real art school, make someone as amazing and awesome as Frank _happy?_ If anything, he should be disappointed by Gerard, upset at the wasted food and potential that both went down the toilet.

Gerard almost scoffed at that, but he didn’t. Instead he leaned across the bed, pulling Frank in the meet in a kiss. It was awkward, their mouths bumped together and they were moving at different speeds, but it was fun and a distraction and exactly what Gerard needed. Frank tried to push him back, tried to slow him down, but he ignored the boy in favor of sticking a hand down his pants. He smirked as Frank moaned into his mouth, hips stuttering in their thrusts against his hand.

“Aren’t we taking this a little fast?” Frank gasped out, but pulled Gerard over until he was sat in his lap, fingers still rubbing over his cock. Gerard gave a little laugh at the, leaning down to bite into the boy’s neck and pulling out a choked moan. 

“Don’t tell me you’re close already,” he said, smirking and sarcastic, and he was suddenly on his back with Frank hovering above him. His hand had slipped out of the boy’s pants but soon found its place tangled in his hair and Frank had yanked his pants down, underwear and all, and was slowly grinding their cocks together.

“Don’t be a bitch,” he said, and Gerard yanked his head back with his hair, propping himself up on one arm and bucking his hips up hard. He spat out through gritted teeth, “Don’t tell me what to do, fucker.”

Their kisses turned angry, biting at each other’s mouths as their hips pressed together. Gerard’s hand was still in Frank’s hair, pulling far too hard to feel good, but the boy didn’t complain, just gripped Gerard’s hips harder as he ground down on him. It was perfect.

“You gonna actually get me off, asshole?” he gasped out when Frank bit down on his collarbone. The boy laughed against his skin, ran his tongue over the bright red bite mark before mumbling, “Don’t think you deserve that.”

Gerard found himself flipped over, lying on his stomach as Frank grabbed the lotion from his nightstand and rubbed it on the inside of his thighs. He was grinding against the bed, lazy circles that made him drool in delight, when Frank pulled his hips up, leaving his face pressed against the mattress and his cock dripping between his legs.

 

“Asshole,” he muttered, but was soon cut off by a gasp and Frank started to push his cock between his legs. He draped himself on top of Gerard, rolling his hips and delighting in the high pitched moans Gerard let out when the head of his cock dragged across his balls. 

“Can’t wait to fuck you,” Frank said, pressing sloppy kisses to the back of his neck. Gerard snickered, turning his head as best he could to look at the other boy.

“What make you think you’re topping?”

Frank laughed, breathless. “‘Cause you’re a bitch.”

He pulled out from between Gerard’s thighs, the boy whining at that until he found himself pressed against the mattress once more, Frank straddling his legs and pushing his cock between his cheeks. He started to hump the mattress, burying his face in sheets to muffle the moans that escaped him every time the head of Frank’s cock pushed at his hole, wet precum smoothing the way for it to press in just a bit. 

“Can’t wait to do this for real,” Frank said, voice strained and telling Gerard he was close. “Can’t wait to properly fuck you. You’ll be begging for it.”

Gerard keened, reaching a hand beneath himself to thumb at the head of his cock as he came all over the sheets beneath him, entire body shaking. He heard Frank let out a soft, “Oh _fuck,”_ before coming too, head pressed against his hole as he jacked himself. Gerard couldn’t help but whimper as he felt Franks come drip down over his balls and between his legs. He lay there, pliant as Frank moved his legs to clean him up, and let his pants be pulled the rest of the way off. He shivered at the cold but that was soon replaced by the warmth of a blanket and Frank curled up behind him. He couldn’t help but smirk at their situation.

“Shouldn’t you be the little spoon?”

Frank placed a soft kiss to the back of his neck. “Shut the fuck up.”

x x x

Gerard had purged in some weird places, like the woods behind his house or on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere while a deer stared at him, even in the bathroom of a restaurant Frank had taken him to on a date, but even out of all of those, this one took the cake. Literally.

It was his birthday. His family had, of course, made a big deal about the whole thing, inviting everyone they knew to come by the house for a backyard barbeque and bonfire. There was so much food and Gerard made sure to try a little bit of everything, occasionally going inside for a bathroom break so he could make room for more.

Everything was going well until his mom brought the cake out. It looked amazing, red velvet with cream cheese frosting, but it was going to _suck_ to purge. Cake, and anything else spongy and bread like, had always been a problem for him. It was easy enough to get it back out, but actually coming up it was sticky and clumped together and choked him to the point he thought he might die. 

He knew he had to eat it though; it was his birthday cake, for fuck’s sake. And even if he didn’t have to eat it, he still wanted to. It wasn’t easy but it was possible, and he’d be damned if he didn’t have some of that rich, creamy goodness. 

He sat at the front of the table, cake in front of him and family around him, and as they sang him ‘Happy Birthday,’ all he could focus on was the cake. He barely remembered to blow out the candles before he was cutting himself a giant piece, almost a fourth of the whole thing. He briefly heard his family laughing, some aunt remarking, “I don’t know where he puts it all!” before he was digging in, taking a moment to savor that first forkful before he swallowed it down and went to town. 

He finished it in minutes, chugging half a soda before heading inside to the bathroom. As he went to open the door he realized it was locked. Someone was in the bathroom and he couldn’t purge. He started to panic.

Choked, gasped breaths and terrified whimpers, falling back against the wall and burying his face in his hands. He had to purge _now._ He could go upstairs but he couldn’t chance the bathroom smelling like vomit, and he’d go downstairs but Mikey had escaped down there earlier. He thought about purging in the sink but he knew that, with his luck, someone would walk in. He was out of options, out of ideas, out of time. 

Suddenly, he became calm. He had an idea; a horrible, awful, incredibly risky idea, but an idea nonetheless. He walked outside, smiling at relatives and pretending he was totally fine. Nobody was the wiser as he managed to sneak around to the side of the house, squatting behind the electrical box and putting his fingers in their second home.

It took a while but he eventually got everything up. The cake clumped together and the icing made it sticky, and he could feel each individual lump in his throat as it travelled up and out. It tasted sweet enough, if slightly sour, but he could ignore that easily enough; he’d purged much, _much_ worse. 

He stood there for a moment, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his jacket and hoping there was no vomit in his hair, staring down at the pile of regurgitated cake at his feet. He thought to himself, had he really fallen so far? Purging his own birthday cake with his family not more than a couple yards away? 

When had he lost control?

x x x

Gerard was looking for something to help with his hangover when he found his mom’s laxatives.

He didn’t know why she had them, considering she never used him, but he supposed that her loss was his gain. Two 24-packs (well, one 24-pack and one now 8-pack) hidden on the bookshelf behind his comics. He’d only take them whenever he felt like he hadn’t gotten everything out, but he was considering going out and buying more so he could use them more often. 

It was nice, feeling empty. Sometimes purging made him feel even heavier than when he was stuffed with food, but the laxatives made sure that what didn’t come up, went down. Of course, the whole ‘sitting on the toilet at three in the morning and crying because the cramps hurt more than anything he’d ever experienced’ wasn’t so nice, but it was a necessary evil. 

The only real issue Gerard had was that he had to take more and more to get the same effect. He read online that you can build up a tolerance if you abuse them (the horror stories were abundant; one girl had even gone so far as to take 180 laxatives at once), but he shouldn’t have to deal with that because he wasn’t abusing them, he was just taking them when he needed to, so he didn’t have a problem. 

At least, that’s what he told himself later that night when he took twice the recommended dose.

x x x

“Holy _fuck,_ Gee.”

Frank was sprawled on the couch seat, Gerard on the floor between his spread legs. He had his fingers tangled in the boy’s hair, rough and knotted but fun to tug on either way, pulling his mouth farther down on his cock. He couldn’t help the low groan that escaped him as Gee took him all the way in his mouth, deepthroating him, and he had to pull a hand away from the boy’s hair to press over his mouth; Mikey was asleep in a chair just a few feet away.

Frank wasn’t an exhibisionist, so when Gerard had dropped to his knees and started undoing his pants, he’d tried to stop him. But Gee was very persuasive, especially so with matters involving his mouth. So there Frank was, getting a blowjob from his sort-of boyfriend while the guy’s brother was in the _same fucking room._

He hit the back of Gerard’s throat and the boy didn’t gag, and he couldn’t help but think of the reason why. He knew what Gerard did, how could he not? Constant bathroom trips after eating, sore throats and red knuckles, it was obvious. And now, with his cock at the back of the boy’s throat, he could only feel guilt at not being able to do anything to help. He cursed as he felt himself start to soften and Gerard pulled off with confusion and a hint of hurt.

“What—”

“You’re not okay,” Frank said, a han cupping the boy’s cheek, thumb stroking across dry skin.

Gerard scowled, getting up and taking a seat on the other side of the couch. “I’m fine.”

They didn’t talk for the rest of the night.

x x x

He couldn’t get it out.

His throat was raw; it hurt just to swallow, let alone stick his fingers back there and make himself puke. He could feel his lymph nodes, swollen and sore and painful to touch. Snot was dripping out of his nose and down his throat, and no matter how many times he sniffled and blew his nose, it just kept trickling out. Overall, he was exhausted and in pain and ready to stop, but he didn’t. He still tried to purge.

He felt it right before it started, the blood beginning to fall from his nose just a second or two after. It dripped down, over his lips and into his mouth only to spill back into the toilet with the regurgitated contents of his stomach. He knew he had put too much pressure on himself but he couldn’t stop. He _had_ to get it out.

It took him a while to realize that his nose had stopped bleeding and the the red in his puke was from something very different. The spit covering his fingers and dripping down his chin was pink and he started to panic but _he couldn’t stop._

He kept purging and the blood kept coming, and he remembered some post on an eating disorder site that said if you puke up more than a tablespoon, you should go to the ER. It had been twice that much and he was still going, still trying to get it out, and he knew he should stop— he _wanted_ to stop, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t leave anything in his stomach. 

It wasn’t until he had finished, had collapsed on the bathroom floor, that he realized he was crying with blood still spilling out of his mouth. He pushed himself off the floor, stumbled to his room and grabbed his phone before hastily looking up ‘purging blood.’ After a few minutes, his breathing started to slow down and his heart wasn’t beating as frantically as before.

He scratched the back of his throat, is all. Bright red flecks were fine, sticky black clumps were what he needed to really freak out about. He just needed to ease up on the purging, wait a few days before doing anything again. He didn’t know if he’d be able to wait that long; he didn’t know if he really _cared._

x x x

Thinking he wouldn’t get caught is where it started to go wrong.

He should have known, should have been more careful, but he was overconfident and thought he could get away with it. He hadn’t been locking the bathroom door for a while, figured since no one ever came downstairs then he didn’t have to worry about it. Then he started only turning on the shower, and from there he stopped running water altogether. It was irresponsible and stupid and he cursed his overconfidence when he saw his brother in the doorway, staring at him as he was hunched over the toilet with fingers covered in spit and vomit.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Mikey, it’s not—”

“I swear to God, if the next words out of your mouth are ‘not what you think,’ I will stick my fingers down your throat and choke you _myself.”_

“Mikey—”

“Do you feel _any_ shame when you lie to me?” Mikey had moved closer, was standing over Gerard who was still sitting on the floor, half leaning on the toilet as he stared up at his little brother. “Do you even regret any of this?” 

Gerard shrugged, standing up and flushing the toilet before pushing past Mikey to get to the sink. He made sure his face was emotionless when he replied, “The only thing I regret is letting you catch me.”

“Jesus _fucking_ Christ, Gee,” Mikey said, staring at him in utter disbelief. 

“Stop trying to make my problems yours,” he retorted, dead calm.

“At least you know you have a problem, _fuck.”_

“Too bad _you_ don’t know how to stay out of my business.” He found himself shoved harshly into the bathroom counter, turning around to find Mikey almost shaking with anger, fists clenched at his sides. He shoved him right back, his calm facade dropping as his face contorted into a sneer. “Mother _fucker,”_ he snarled when Mikey pushed him again.

“You selfish pig,” his brother spat out, and that hit a nerve. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing to us? To yourself?”

“Last I checked, I’m an adult,” he said, “and I can do whatever the fuck I’d like.”

“There’s this thing called ‘involuntary commitment.’”

“You. Wouldn’t. _Dare.”_

x x x

“Honestly Gerard, what did you think would happen? That we wouldn’t find out?”

His mom was ranting, but he was pretty sure it was just so she wouldn’t start to cry again. She’d broken down in tears when Mikey had told her, at a rather awkward moment as he was trying to push off Gerard, who was trying to cover his mouth and wrestle him back downstairs; they both had bruises, Mikey’s were scattered on his chest from where Gerard slammed him into a wall, and Gerard had a black eye from when Mikey elbowed him in the face.

Now they wouldn’t even talk to each other, Mikey staring emotionless at the road from his spot in the front seat, and Gerard numbly staring out the side window from his place in the back. It had been one day and his mom had already had him involuntarily admitted to some eating disorder center outside of the city, not even letting him pack as she dragged him out to the car and pushed him inside. He really only went willingly because she’d threatened to call a transport van to come pick him up, and he _really_ didn’t want a needle full of sedatives shoved into his neck.

He’d given up.

What was the point in fighting it anymore? They knew about his dirty little secret, there was no going back now. He didn’t understand why all this was necessary though. It would have been easier to just send him to a doctor, although he didn’t want that either. He didn’t want to have to explain himself, or have some bullshit therapist try to psychoanalyze him and explain to him what he already knew. 

Unfortunately, things were never easier for him, so there he was, sitting in a car with the two people that loved and hated him the most, being driven to a recovery center despite not wanting help. He didn’t have his comics or sketchbook, or even _a_ book, and his mom had taken away his phone so he couldn’t even tell Frank what was going on. He wondered if Mikey would tell him, or if his brother would be too pissed and just leave his kind of boyfriend to wonder if he was even still alive. 

They get to the center soon enough, and that was when he decided that it was then or not at all.

“Can I have my phone?” His mom opened her mouth and he could see the ‘no’ that was about to come out. “I just want to call Frank, let him know what’s going on.”

“Mikey can do that,” she said, turning away and starting to walk through the parking lot. Mikay was still in the car, not looking at either of them, and Gerard felt something in him break.

“Mom, _please.”_

He didn’t know if it was the desperation in his voice, the reality hitting his mom that she would have to throw her son in a psych ward for who knew how long, or maybe just a surge of empathy for his situation, but she turned around and handed him his phone with a sigh.

“Five minutes,” she said sternly, but Gerard didn’t hear because he had already dialed Frank and was waiting for the boy to pick up.

_“Hello?”_

He felt himself relax at hearing a voice that didn’t sound disappointed. “Hey Frankie, it’s Gee.”

_“Hey, what’s up?”_

Gerard laughed, humorless. Where to begin? “Well, I’m being hospitalized.”

 _“Shit, fuck are you okay? What happened?”_ He could hear the panic in Frank’s voice, felt bad for worrying him.

“I’m fine,” he said, lying to try and calm the other boy down. “I just— you know my problem?”

 _“The ‘puking everything you eat’ problem?”_ He could hear the anger in the boy’s voice, but also a hint of hurt. 

“Yeah,” Gerard said, feeling a little hurt himself. “Well, I’m getting help for it.”

 _“Fuck, really?”_ He sounded like he didn’t believe him.

“Yeah.”

 _“Wow, I—”_ At least he had the decency to sound apologetic. _“I’m proud of you, Gee.”_

“That makes one of us,” he mumbled under his breath. 

_“I’m sorry,”_ Frank said, and he actually sounded genuine. _“I love you and I care about you and I want you to get better, okay?”_

“Not making any promises.” He said it with a smile. 

_“Ha ha, very funny, asshole. Do you think you’ll be in there for long?”_ Gerard shrugged, even though the other boy couldn’t see him.

“Don’t worry,” Gerard said, a bitter smile on his face. “I’ll be out before you know it.”

**Author's Note:**

> here it is!! the next installment of Diamonds and Gold!
> 
> I'm sorry for any mistakes, I tried to proofread it but I had a lot of difficulties. A lot of the time I end up hating my writing and this is not an exception, so I had some troubles finishing this up. I don't even know, I'm just insecure and trying to deal with my own issues so I'm sorry if this sucks.
> 
> After this will be Patrick, then Tyler, and then the last fic of the series. I hope you guys like these stories, comments and kudos are always appreciated :)


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